perhaps Poe was right....
the heart that clamors in these walls,
defies death with every verse.
we are more than death,
and less than the snail's journey.
it be not the lie clothed in many words,
but the scar revealed on the naked breast!
and genius itself some small miracle,
like walking on water,
or painting the moon.
the beauty lies in that which
we cannot perfect....
in that which already 'is'!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
we are more than death, and less than the snail's journey interesting to ask, what is the snail's journey and what the snail knows? For how can the snail know crawling about in subdued slime. With its burden on its back, that creation earth. Stands a vast height above him?